


Stalemate

by ncfan



Category: Natsume Yuujinchou | Natsume's Book of Friends
Genre: Canon Speculation, Confrontations, Gen, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-01
Updated: 2016-06-01
Packaged: 2018-07-11 17:20:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7062223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ncfan/pseuds/ncfan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The letter might have been gone, but Seiji had a good idea of where to go to look for it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stalemate

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is a companion to ‘Dead Weight’, both sharing the premise that Natori Shuuichi and Matoba Seiji seem to be actively avoiding each other in canon, but there may be a couple of times in present-day canon when they might have spoken to one another. You don’t need to read ‘Dead Weight’ to understand this, but it is paired with this one. This in particular is a reaction to certain events in Volume 13.

“There’s something in your hair…”

He hadn’t noticed it until now; the object was only just paler than Natsume’s hair, and Seiji’s attention had been focused elsewhere. Before he could make contact, the object shot out of reach. Seiji watched, frowning slightly, as a small scrap of paper flew away, disappearing into the clear blue sky.

Seiji turned his gaze on Natsume, his eyes narrowed. “When I think about it,” he said slowly, “it was unusual for me to write such a long letter.”

Natsume’s face had paled, his eyes wide, lips mashed tightly together. All told, it was difficult to gauge how much he knew, but he did at least seem to have been unaware of his ‘passenger.’ Seiji suspected the boy would have behaved rather differently today, if he had known.

It would be pointless to press the issue any further with him. No matter. Seiji had a good idea of where to go next.

-0-0-0-

It was rather hotter in the city than it had been in the countryside, though Seiji suspected that had something to do with the way the asphalt was practically radiating heat, to the point that spilled water produced curls of steam. The blistering air was permeated with the acrid odor of gasoline from a nearby gas station, mingled with the smells coming from the open door of a restaurant—not the most pleasant combination, and the heat only amplified it.

Seiji strode purposefully down the street, paying no heed to the sparse assortment of pedestrians who shared the sidewalk with him. _The apartment building should be just ahead, after another block or so._

By chance, he happened to glance across the street, and something caught his eye. There, just across from Seiji, was a bus stop. It was empty, but for one person sitting at the bench. He was poring over a small book, but was immediately recognizable nonetheless. Seiji supposed he wouldn’t have to go all the way to the apartment building after all.

As soon as traffic permitted, Seiji crossed the street, and sat down at the bus stop, straight-backed. Even through his clothes, the metal bench was almost unbearably hot, but he gave no outward sign of being affected. He turned his gaze on the man to his left, and waited. Soon enough, Natori looked up from his reading and jumped slightly to see Seiji there. There was a sheen of sweat on his forehead, and out from under his shirt collar, the skin on the back of his neck was red and peeling. He snapped the book shut, set it aside, and smiled widely. “What brings the high and mighty head of the Matoba clan here?” His voice pitched high, almost sickly-sweet. “Did your car break down?”

That did not bear responding to. “We missed you at the last meeting,” Seiji told him, his mouth forming a line that was neither smile nor frown. “I was rather surprised you didn’t attend.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes. Your attendance has always been rather spotty, but it’s not like you to be absent when we’re discussing a threat to our own. _Especially_ when your attendance was expressly requested,” Seiji added pointedly.

Natori put on the big, inexplicably sparkly smile that had served to make fully half the community dismiss him as anything resembling a credible threat, and a laughingstock among newcomers (Until they got wind of his track record, at which point they abruptly stopped laughing). “Well, I’m flattered to know that you were thinking of me in such _troubled_ times.”

Seiji frowned lightly. The smile rang false—too wide, too cheery, masking something considerably sharper (And not doing the best job). “But I understand,” Seiji said smoothly. “You had another… engagement.”

At that, Natori stiffened slightly. The change was miniscule, enough so that it might have gone unnoticed, but Seiji had had years of practice. Something like that wasn’t going to escape his notice.

“As it happens,” Seiji went on, smoothing down his shirt with the palms of his hands, “I recently met with a mutual acquaintance of ours.” A smile edged around his lips, but didn’t quite come about.  “Perhaps you know who I mean?”

“…I might,” Natori replied. There was no inflection to his voice, no rise or fall, and his eyes showed themselves glassy.

The harsh squeal of screeching tires cut through the air, as a car up the street ground to a sudden halt. Seiji nodded. Then, he fixed Natori in a piercing stare. “Natori-san,” he said, unsmiling. “The letter I gave to Natsume-kun, where is it?”

Natori affixed another huge smile to his face, though this one exposed far more of his teeth than the last. “Are you seriously accusing me of stealing your mail? I’m _wounded,_ Matoba. Have you tried asking—“

“I know it was you,” Seiji cut him off flatly, glaring.

The smile vanished from Natori’s face as quickly as it had appeared. He ran a hand through his damp hair, turning his head away and watching Seiji out of the corner of his eye. “You do, do you?”

“Indeed, I do,” Seiji replied frostily. “You aren’t as skilled at covering your tracks as you think you are—and there aren’t a great many other candidates, besides. So, Natori-san…” Seiji could feel keenly the bite of his fingernails in his palms. “…Would you care to tell me why you went so far as to _steal_ a letter I wrote to a potential recruit?”

Natori shrugged and smirked, his eyes glittering. “What kind of Natori clan exorcist would I be if I didn’t try to keep such a powerful person away from the Matoba clan?”

Seiji tilted his head, and brushed his long hair aside to keep it from falling over his face. “So you’re finally showing some concern for your familial obligations?” His shoulders trembled as he gave a choking, derisive laugh. “How touching. But tell me, how exactly do you propose to do so all by yourself?”

Natori’s smirk quavered, then sharpened. “I might have an easier time of it than you think.”

Seiji raised an eyebrow.

Natori paused, his mouth slightly open, eyes darting back and forth between Seiji and the street in front of them. “I told you before,” he said tersely, the muscles taut in his jaw, “it’s none of your business. Natsume doesn’t want anything to do with you, anyways.”

“What did you do with the letter?”

Natori looked away. “I got rid of it,” he explained, defensive to the point of defiance.

“Really?” If Seiji had looked down to find his palms bleeding, it wouldn’t have come as too great a shock. “I am curious, Natori-san: before destroying it, did you actually bother to read my letter?”

There was a long, pregnant pause in which Natori said nothing, and Seiji stared at him, his lips pursed. Then, he nodded stiffly. “…I did.”

“And what did you think of it?”

The silence that followed was as good an answer as any.

“I think we are agreed,” Seiji said, with a discernable edge to his voice,” that if you are not going to take charge of that boy, someone has to. It’s dangerous to let someone that powerful run around unsupervised— _especially_ someone so blindly trusting in ayakashi as Natsume-kun.” _You remember the lessons you learned, don’t you? You are the last person I would expect to forget._

“I don’t agree that taking him into the Matoba clan is the answer.”

“And why not?” Seiji pressed, frowning intensely. “Can his foster parents protect him? Can you? Can you watch over him every hour of the day?”

Natori’s face contorted, and it was a long time before he was able to recompose it into something resembling calmness. He said, in a very measured voice, “I am trying to protect Natsume’s right to _choose_ what kind of life he wants to live. An adult can screw up and limit their own options, but no one deserves to have their options just taken away from them, especially not someone that young.” He stared straight ahead, none-too-subtly avoiding eye contact with Seiji.

Seiji raised an eyebrow skeptically. “And just remind me, Natori-san: how old were you when you first attended one of our meetings?”

“Natsume’s not the same kind of person as us,” Natori argued. Seiji’s attention was drawn irresistibly to his clenching his hands in and out of fists on his lap. “Not everyone who deals with ayakashi thinks they’re out to get them.” He paused and frowned, the same troubled, unhappy frown Seiji had seen hovering on his mouth so many times.” Or runs around trying to exorcise them.” The lizard ayakashi that lived under his skin crawled out from under his sleeve, and crept down his arm. Natori clapped his hand over it, scowling. “Or has spent their whole life being taught to do so.”

“So you’re trying to shield him from reality? How very sentimental of you,” Seiji said coolly. “But we both know what becomes of exorcists who let their hearts rule them rather than their heads.”

Natori still stared determinedly straight ahead. Seiji regarded him for a few long moments, waiting for, _wanting_ him to turn his head. To just look at him. But he didn’t. When Seiji thought about it, he didn’t think he had in a while.

Seiji’s hand shot out, fingernails digging deep into Natori’s shoulder. Wearing a smile that showed far too many gritted teeth, Seiji leaned close to him and hissed into his ear, “We both know what happened to _you_ when you did that, _don’t we?_ ”

With some satisfaction, Seiji watched as all the color drained out of Natori’s face.

“You…”

And finally, he looked at him. But as he did so, the smile, however mirthless it might have been, faded from Seiji’s lips.

He could see everything: the beads of sweat on Natori’s forehead, the sudden pallor of his face, the way his mouth had formed an uneven, slightly quivering line, his eyes bright with fury and hurt. No matter how hard he tried for control these days, he could still be brought to this point. Easily, too, if only you knew what to do. Or perhaps, Seiji supposed, he just had that effect.

But Natori pushed his hand aside, and Seiji drew back from him, and both looked away from the other. Silence descended, broken only by the occasional revving of a car engine and laughter from pedestrians walking by.

Eventually, Natori’s bus pulled up by the stop, its doors swinging open to admit passengers. Without sparing Seiji a single glance, Natori hopped up and made to board the bus. Before he could do so, however, Seiji stood and called him back. “Natori-san, if Natsume-kun really doesn’t want anything to do with the Matoba clan, there is no reason for you to interfere. If you are really trying to keep him disentangled from our world, you’d do well to remember that.”

Natori shot him one last tight-jawed look before turning his back, and boarding the bus.

Once alone, Seiji sighed, pressing his fingertips to his forehead, and frowning when he felt cloth instead of skin. He wondered… Even if Natori hadn’t been the intended reader of his letter, he would have liked to have known what he had felt, when he read it.


End file.
